Steps in a journey
by Emma-G
Summary: The story of two young people caught in the war. Updated.
1. Seeds are planted

A/N Eh, I'm so bad at these.  None of the concepts herein are mine – so far nothing here belong to anyone else either, but there you go.   This isn't exactly a Matrix-fic for this part, just my own random musings and ramblings (I ramble a lot, let me tell you), but will become more so later on.

The class shuffled restlessly as Cassie walked slowly to the front.  She was small and skinny, with a pale ordinary face and unremarkable grey eyes.  Her brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun, making her face look stark and unadorned, clear of makeup.  Her complexion was not softened any by the unrelieved black of her clothes – an oversized black wool overcoat concealed everything of her body but her chunky black boots.

A mocking comment made her turn her head slightly, but her eyes did not flicker and her face remained peacefully blank.  The boy who made the comment shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  It was generally thought that Cassie was a bit strange in the head.  Somebody had made a joke soon after she came to the school about clock towers and sniper rifles.  She had given him a blank look until he backed slowly away.  People were wary of her.

She reached the front of the class and turned to face them.  "I'm going to talk about reality," she said to the teacher, who nodded apathetically.   She squared her shoulders, paused, then threw a ball at the boy who had made the snide comment just before.  Surprised, he caught it – she hadn't really thrown it very hard, and he played baseball. 

"How did you catch that?" she asked calmly.

"You threw it!"  He sounded offended.

"How did you know?" she asked, apparently unruffled.

"I saw you," he said, sounding puzzled.

"Did you see me?" she asked a girl at the back of the class.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Wasn't looking," replied the girl laconically.

"Did I throw the ball?"

The girl frowned.  "I think so."

"How would you know?  Did you see it happen?"

"No but… you did.  Didn't you?"

"Never mind.  That was an illustration of my first point – the reality is subjective."  Her face and voice were calm and smooth, revealing nothing.  It could have been a machine talking for all she gave away.  "Allan saw me throw the ball – it was real to him.  As a reaction to that reality, he caught it.  Rebecca didn't see me throw the ball.  She has only been told about it and seen the aftereffects – Allan holding the ball.  It wasn't real to her, only something she had been told about.  Their reality is different."

She paused and looked around the class.  Even the teacher was looking mildly interested.  "So, if reality is subjective, what keeps it in line?  Why doesn't everyone see things differently from one another?  Is there actually an absolute reality that all realities must bow to?

In other words, did I actually throw the ball?"

"Yes," said a boy about halfway back the room.

"How do you know?" she shot back.

"I saw you," he said defensively.

"Maybe you just dreamed it.  Maybe your memory is faulty.  Maybe it wasn't real."

"They all saw it too," he protested.  Heads bobbed in support.

"Maybe none of them are real.  Maybe I'm not real.  Maybe we're all just a figment of your imagination."

"I am not!"  His girlfriend.  Several people laughed at that.

"Maybe he's just a figment of your imagination, then.  Maybe we're all figments of each others' imagination."

"How is that possible?"

She sighed.  "If none of us are here, but we all think we're here, and we all think everybody else is as well – that's how."

"But that isn't possible," said the teacher.  "So many minds would fragment, and create their own realities.  People would go crazy."

"True," conceded Cassie, "Unless of course the reality we all think we perceive is being controlled by an outside force."

"Like god, or something?"

Cassie frowned slightly.  "Not exactly.  Think of it this way.  You've all heard of virtual reality, right?" Nods.  "What if a virtual reality program could be so completely flawless that you couldn't tell the difference between it and reality?"

"That's not possible.  We'd be able to tell."  The class was leaning forward, interested, getting involved.  The teacher looked almost startled at this level of class participation from someone who wasn't really all that popular.

"Yes, you would.  But what if you'd never known anything else?  How would you be able to tell what was more real than the only thing you had ever known?"

"So… If we'd always been in virtual reality, we wouldn't know that it was virtual reality?  We'd just think it was real?"

"You'd have no reason to suspect otherwise.  If all you'd ever known was virtual, that would be all that was real to you."

"It'd have to be a good virtual reality program," said Allan thoughtfully.

"Flawless," assured Cassie

"And it'd have to be pretty damn big," he continued.

"Huge," she replied encouragingly.

"It's not possible," he said flatly. "Sophistication like that doesn't exist."

Cassie sighed again.  "That isn't the point.  The point is, if you've never known reality, how would you be able to tell that what you're experiencing isn't real?" 

Puzzled looks all around.  "We'd just… know, wouldn't we?"

"Maybe," she said calmly, "Maybe not.  The point is that we all receive different information from the same source – be it our surroundings, or a virtual reality computer program.  Thus, we all perceive reality differently."  She looked at the teacher.  "That's all."

The teacher nodded as she walked back to her seat.  There were no more mocking comments this time.

Review whoring:  I really, really like reviews.   Please leave some for my lonely little review bunny.  *Pets review bunny* He's so skinny, poor baby.


	2. It begins

Disclaimer:  I own a lot of stuff – a computer, some nice jewelry, and a beautiful teddy bear name Asher, to name a few.  What I don't own is The Matrix or any related concepts.  They belong to other people who are not me, unfortunately.  This is just me having random fun in their world.  Reviews are appreciated.

The days passed, and life continued.  It happened on a Friday, in the same class.  They were getting their marks back for the presentations.  While most of the students excitedly asked each other what they got, Cassie sat apart by the window and looked down at the paper on her desk with a large A written on it in red pen.  She turned her head away so nobody else could see her smile, and happened to be looking out the window as the car pulled up in front of the school.  It was a plain, black, unmarked sedan that practically screamed "government".  She watched, her outer calmness giving away nothing of her sick tension, as three identically dressed men got out of the car and stared up at the building.

"Those guys do blank better than you do," said a voice from behind her.

She jumped and turned to see Allan's grinning face.  Her own face slipped to blankness.  "What do you want?"

"I wanted to see what you got."

"An A," she said, and turned to look back out the window.  The three men walked up the front steps.  As they disappeared inside, she began counting in her head as she turned to face Allan.  "I have to go now," she said coolly.  She heard footsteps on the rickety stairs, and calmly lifted herself up to sit on the window ledge.  "Goodbye."

She tilted backwards and fell, moments before the classroom door opened.  Nobody else had even been watching.

The three men glared around the room.  Nothing seemed amiss.  "We're looking for Cassandra Herring."  

"Oh, she's…" the teacher began, then stopped.  "That's odd, I could have sworn…  Allan, did you see Cassie anywhere?"

Allan hesitated, and then shrugged.  "Nope.  She must have snuck out."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her walking purposefully across the lawn in front of the school.  She calmly got in the car the men had come in and started it up.  The men exited the classroom as their car pulled smoothly away and started down the street. 

Allan grinned.

Ten minutes later, after apparently searching around the school for a while, the three men emerged to find their car gone.  They stood silently on the lawn for almost a full minute, then walked away without any apparent emotion.


	3. Choose

Disclaimer: This doesn't belong to me.  Okay, I own Cassie/Shadow and Allan, but that's about it.  The rest of it – the concepts etc belong to people who are far more wonderful.

A/N: Oh, shiny, a review.  Me likes.  *Warms herself happily*  Please more?

For days the school was swarming with police.  Almost every student was interviewed, trying to figure out where she had gone, who she might have known.  They had absolutely no luck.  All they found out was that she had been a loner, an odd girl with no friends, who seemed to go out of her way to have as little contact as possible with her peers.

Her locker was empty.  They hacked into her file on the computer, to discover only one file, containing one word: Gotcha.

The three suited men who had come for her prowled the corridors, glaring suspiciously at the students as if they were hiding the fugitive under their coats.  Allan kept his eyes down and his opinions to himself.  His opinion was of course that they were wasting their time.  They wouldn't find her.  She was long gone.

She had left something behind, though.  On the back of the report card, scored with the big red 'A', she had written something.  _The truth – the most obvious thing in the world – is the thing that people will go to any lengths to hide from, because they are happier in the lie._

He wondered vaguely when she had written it.  He hadn't seen her do so during class, but when he picked it up after she jumped out the window, there it was.  It was signed, not Cassie, but Shadow.

Shadow.  The name seemed to echo in his head, filling his thoughts.  Hadn't he always seen her that way?  Just a shadow, just something dark and inconsequential flickering on the edge of vision.  Something that could be anywhere, that could be ignored.  Just a fact of life.

He could barely even remember what she looked like.  Unremarkable.  Small.  Pale.  But her features?  Nothing.

Allan sighed, sitting back from his computer.  He couldn't remember what she looked like.  He didn't know her real name, where she was from, where she was now.  She was probably a dangerous criminal, possibly a terrorist.  But he was obsessed with her.  He wanted to find her and ask her what all those cryptic comments about the truth and reality meant.  He wanted to know how she had jumped out a window three floors up and been unharmed enough to take off with a government car without so much as changing her stoic expression.  He wanted to know what she hid under that black coat, behind that blank face.

His bedroom was dark at this hour, only the light from the computer screen illuminating the blackness of three AM.  He wasn't doing anything in particular, just surfing the net.  Looking for her, if only he'd admit it to himself, though why he thought he'd find her in cyberspace, he wasn't sure.

Suddenly, the screen went blank as the computer died.  He sat there, the darkness shockingly thick, almost tangible, like being dropped in ink.  He realized he was shaking.

Footsteps on the stairs, soft and light, but he could hear them, familiar as he was with the nuances of this house.  One set of footsteps, moving steadily, not noisily, but not trying to be quiet either.  Measured.

The footsteps stopped outside his bedroom door.  He sat, frozen in the thick, inky darkness, and tried not to breathe, straining to listen, to hear.  The handle turned, and the door swung slowly open.  The shaking stopped and suddenly he was very calm, very still.

Click, and the light was on.  The brightness stung his eyes and made him blink, squinting stupidly at the doorway.  For a moment all he could see was a dark figure closing the door quietly, then his vision cleared and he saw her.

"Shadow," he gasped, and she smiled.  The blank mask was gone.  Her face was intense, strong.

"Good," she said.  "You remembered."  She gestured at the still-blank computer screen.  "You've been looking."

"Yes," he replied hesitantly.  He suddenly realized it was not just her face that was unmasked.  The coat was open, revealing black leather – real leather, not plastic faux-leather – that followed the curves of her body in a way that could not even really be called clinging.  It was rather more like a second skin.

With difficulty he dragged his eyes back to her face, to find her smiling dangerously. "What are you looking for?"

"You," he blurted.  Then, realizing how inane that sounded, he stammered, "I mean, all those things you said, about reality – and Christ, you jumped off a building, and all the cops were looking for you…" He trailed off.  She was nodding, looking almost amused at his rambling.  Or maybe it was the thought of all those cops searching for her when they had no chance of ever finding her.  "Who are you?" he whispered.

"I'm Shadow," she replied, in a spooky voice. "They can hunt me forever, those little tin gods, and they'll never find me.  Once you know the truth you're beyond their reach."

"Sounds like fun," said Allan wistfully. 

Her face clouded.  "Not really."  She paused.  "There are worse things out there."

He looked at her for a long moment.  "What do you want?"

"I want to tell you the truth.  I want to take you to where I am."  She leaned back against the door and looked at him, her eyes narrowed.  "But it's your choice."

He stared at her.  Of course he wanted to know the truth.  It was driving him crazy.  "Why wouldn't I want to know?"

She looked away, studying the posters on the walls.  He followed her line of vision and blushed.  Half-naked women… not really the classiest thing in the world.  "The truth is hard to accept.  Some people can't.  A lot go mad."  His gaze snapped back to her, but her eyes were still distantly studying his walls.  "But the thing is, once you know the truth, once you've chosen your path… you can't go back.  You have to go away.  You'll never see any of them again… your friends, your family.  You'll just disappear."

He looked at her, cold.  She was serious.  "Is it worth it?" His voice sounded strange, scratchy.

She lowered her head, and her hair fell in her eyes.  It was loosely tied back, loose enough that it had some wave, and enough slack to fall over her face.  "Depends.  It's a damned hard life.  Cold.  Bleak.  Dangerous.  There's a war on… everything's dark.  They hunt us."  She paused, the muscles in her jaw twitching.  "But I think it's worth it.  Because of what we're fighting for."

"Do I have to choose now?"  Even to him, his voice sounded young, uncertain, vulnerable.  She smiled gently. 

"I'm afraid so.  If I leave now, I'm never coming back."

"And if I go with you, neither am I." 

"Exactly."

He stood, pacing around his room, absently stepping over piles of discarded clothes and other assorted junk on the floor. He wheeled around to face her.  "You're asking me to give up everything I've ever known and wanted, and I don't know what for."

She said nothing, only looked at him, her face once more blank.

"Say something, damnit!"

Her voice was low, mocking.  "The path is now before you, stranger, make the choice and face the danger.  Or wonder, till it drives you mad, what would have happened if you had."

He froze, staring at her, and she spoke again, looking at him intently.  "I can't make the choice for you.  I only offer the options."

His head was filled with images – his family, his friends, his life.  Everything he had ever known.  It was like his life was flashing before his eyes, and he suddenly saw how empty and stupid it was, how inane and superficial.  He saw the young woman standing before him.  She was only young, he realized, only seventeen or so.  She spoke with such deadly calm and assurance that she seemed older.  Something lurked in the corner of those blue eyes, behind that mask.  Something sad, but frightening.  Purpose.  Purpose that came with a loss of innocence and gained her only cruelty.

He made his choice.

"Let's go."


	4. Human weaknesses

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Actually, tell a lie, I own Shadow, Allan, Pixel, Twitch, and the plotline - what there is of one. The rest, including concept, world and inspiration, belong to the Wachowskis and WB. I am writing for my own amusement/gratification/ twisted sense of humour/starved plotbunny and am making no money off this whatsoever.

A/N: Wow, two chapters in one day. A record for me. I decided against showing Allans unplugging, as we all know what will happen, with the pills, and the hallucinating, and the goo, and the machines, and... ugh. So, this takes place, after he had been released, a couple of hours after he has been told the truth. ("You've been living in a dream world" etc)

Allan sat huddled on his bed, the door of his cabin closed. He had his eyes shut and was trying very hard not to think about anything at all. His thoughts skittered one way and another, and he realised he was shaking. It had nothing to do with his thoughts, he was just that cold. After a while he lay down, curling up as tight as he could.

A knock at the door. It sounded hollow and metallic, but then, everything did here. He debated with himself for a long moment, then called softly, "Come in."

It was Shadow. She was no longer the blank-faced loner lost inside her huge coat, nor the intense leather-clad girl who had swept him away on her motorcycle to this strange, cold place. Her skin was ghostly, almost translucently pale, her mouth thin and compressed. Ragged clothes hung awkwardly off her skinny frame, and her long hair was braided close to her skull, giving the impression of baldness. She looked striking, stark and defined.

She stood in the doorway, looking at him, waiting for him to say something. She didn't ask him if he was alright. She knew he wasn't. She just waited for his questions.

He took deep breaths. "That talk you gave in class - it was all true, wasn't it? All the stuff about objective reality, and virtual reality... god, it was like you were trying to hit us over the head with it."

"But you were the one who picked it up and ran with it," she said, coming into the room and sitting on the floor, her back braced against the floor, feet against the bed. Short legs, he thought vaguely. Then he realised what she had just said.

"Is that why you released me? Because I liked your talk?"

She shook her head. "The talk's just a way of testing the waters. Seeing whose mind can stretch to accommodate the concept. Yours could."

"Is that why, then?"

"Not exactly." He looked at her. "I thought you had potential."

He laughed harshly. "And now what do you think? I freaked out in there. They all think I'm stupid."

She looked at him thoughtfully, then smiled. "Look at this." She pulled up her sleeve, revealing three parallel scars on the inside of her forearm. It looked like a big cat had tried to rip her arm open. The scars were shiny and healed, but a gentle pink against her paper-white skin. "Do you remember Twitch?"

He did, vaguely. One of the crew. A small, nervous man with a large nose and long, thin hands. "Yeah."

"He freaked out about ten times worse than you. I was trying to hold him down, tell him it was okay. He clawed me up pretty bad, and bit a chunk out of Pix."

"Bit a chunk out of her?" repeated Allan, shocked. He remembered Pixel as a tall, burly Asian-featured woman with cropped black hair.

"Oh, it wasn't a big chunk," she reassured him. "Only about the size of a quarter. From here." She indicated the point where her neck met her shoulder. "She was leaning over him to reach his other arm - this was just after he got me in the arm - and he just lunged up and took a piece out of her."

Allan stared down at the scars. "How long ago was this?"

She squinted, figuring it out. "Lessee, I was twelve. So about five years."

"Shit," he breathed.

They sat in silence for a few moments. She seemed absolutely comfortable, willing to sit in what looked like a very awkward position for as long as necessary. Allan's thoughts were crashing into one another. He tried to think of a question that wouldn't sound belligerent or inane. All he could come up with was, "Can I have something to eat?"

She looked up at him, her face slipping back to blankness. "Sure. Can you walk to the mess, or do you want me to bring you something?"

Allan thought about it, decided he really couldn't, and said, "I can walk."

By the time they reached the infirmary, she was half-carrying him. "I could have brought you something, you know," she grumbled good-naturedly.

"I know," he gasped, collapsing in a chair. "I thought I could make it."

The effort it had taken to walk less than thirty yards shamed him. He was trembling and weak as a baby. She looked at him without scorn.

"Don't push yourself," she said kindly while he tried to regain his breath, blinking away the spots that filled his vision. "It's always like that at first. You need to get your strength back slowly. The weakness will pass."

He nodded as she turned to do something at the bench on the other side of the room. "I have to warn you, the food isn't terribly good." She put in front of him what looked like runny porridge. "But it's a balanced diet. We can subsist quite healthily on this."

He picked up the spork, noticing as he did his hand was shaking. The utensil seemed bizarrely heavy. Or maybe it was his hand that was heavy. Shadow had turned her back again, quietly and efficiently tidying up the small space.

He had about three mouthfuls of the bland, tasteless stuff before the spork got so heavy he had to put it down for a rest. He could feel weakness spread throughout his body. His mind was awake and alert, but his body was a heavy, clumsy thing that refused to do what he wanted. He realised that there were tears of frustration running down his face. He couldn't even feed himself. He was useless, helpless.

Shadow looked at him compassionately. She remembered what it was like. She sat carefully beside him, straddling the bench he sat on, and pulled him over to lean against her, his head against her shoulder. She reached over and picked up the spork and began to feed him like a baby.

"I'm useless," he mumbled, before she got the first mouthful in.

"Oh, sure, now you're useless. You're doing well that you're even walking at this point. I remember when we unplugged this guy last year, he didn't feed himself for three damn months. We all thought something was really wrong. Finally figured out he was doing it so he could look down Pixel's top while she fed him."

"What'd she do?" he asked, mildly curious. She gave him another spoonful.

"Plugged 'em into the construct and told him that if he could land a punch, he could have her. Of course, this was before his training started, and he'd never seen any of us fight, so he had no idea what she could do."

"She kicked his ass?"

"Of course."

"I would never try to look down your top."

"I believe you."

Silence as she continued to feed him. As he swallowed the last spoonful, he said, "Only 'cause I'm scared you'd hurt me."

He startled when she laughed. It was a quick, soft sound, but definitely a laugh. "Now that, I believe."

He smiled, suddenly very sleepy.

"Tired now?"

He nodded, just a bit, too tired to talk or to move. He was so very comfortable agaist her shoulder - it wasn't as bony as it looked - and she was warm. The length of his body where he was pressed against her was so warm. He could feel himself drifting off.


	5. Training

Disclaimer: See Ch. 1

When he woke, Allan was back in his room.  He wondered vaguely how he'd gotten there.  It was dark and he could hear voices and soft laughter, muffled by distance and closed doors.  He wondered if he should get up, be doing something, but remembering what had happened last time decided against it.  He rolled over and went back to sleep.

_______

The door clanked open, and there was Twitch.  "You ready to go?" he asked in a nasal English accent.

"Huh?"

"Your training starts today.  Didn't anyone tell you?"

"Uh, no."

"Well, get up.  We gotta get started.  You got five minutes."

He turned and left.  Allan rolled out of bed, surprised to find his body working properly.  He saw a tray of food lying next to the bed, and managed to wolf down about a plate of goopy stuff – which tasted no better now he was feeding himself – before heading out the door.  He still felt slow and weak, but he could walk, and managed to make it all the way to the ladder.

Pixel appeared at the door of the mess and saw him looking up the ladder, wondering if he had the strength.  She grinned manically.

"Come on kid, you can do it.  It's not that far," she said encouragingly.  "I'll catch you if you fall."

Twitch's face appeared at the top of the ladder. "You coming, kid?"

He started to climb.  Halfway up he started to shake, but Pixel pinched his backside, sending him scrambling all the way, landing on all fours at the top.  Twitch helped him up.  "Don't mind her.  She's just a bloody flirt."

He guided the shaking boy over to the hot seat.  "Don't worry, you won't have to move from here for the rest of the day."

"I thought I was meant to be training?"

"You are.  It's good fun.  We plug the information and skills you need straight into your head."

Allan thought about that as Twitch buzzed around him.  "Do I get a say in this?"

Twitch paused and looked down at him.  "Not really.  We all have to do it, and it's not that bad.  Doesn't hurt."

He looked at the spike that Twitch was wielding, waiting to insert into the back of his head.  "Okay.  Fine."

He shuddered as the spike slid into this skull.  Tensed for pain, he was surprised that sensation, while overwhelmingly intense, was not entirely unpleasant.  Information surged through his head, filling his thoughts.  It was like a flood of data that completely suppressed all higher brain functions.  He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't move.  In the one corner of his mind still left to him, he noted that his subconscious was taking the information and sorting it, carefully keeping the flood just low enough that his heart still beat. 

Finally the tide abated.  He opened his eyes without remembering when he had closed them.  Gasping for breath, he tried to turn his head and found he couldn't.  The metal spike pinned his head in place.  Figures danced in front of his eyes, like afterimages in strong light – figures of circuits, machines, engineering.  He didn't feel any different, but he looked up at the pipes that ran across the ceiling and knew that they carried power from the generator to the crew's quarters, providing heat and light, the essentials of survival.  He didn't think he knew how that had happened, then realized he did.  He understood exactly how the information had been downloaded into his brain.  He knew about the biochemical/synthetic processes used to fool his nervous system into believing things were happening.  It was all so clear, so obvious.  

He took a deep breath, and thought carefully of food.  Data tumbled over him, genetic structures, nutritional values, production methods of the goop he had eaten just before.  His stomach roiled.  Oh, that's disgusting, he thought.

He turned his head very slightly to look at Twitch, who raised an eyebrow.  "Cool with that, kid?"

He swallowed and nodded.  "Yeah.  I… yeah."

Twitch grinned.  "That's just basic knowledge and training.  There'll be test later, to make sure it all downloaded properly.  Ready for the next one?"

"There's more?"

He laughed.  "Yep.  You still gotta have history, combat, tactics, and some fast and dirty hacking."

"Hacking?"

Twitch nodded.  "You got pulled out purely on Shadow's say-so.  You got no skill we can use, no strings to pull.  We gotta do something with you, and that means training you up.  You'll be our backup pilot, operator, and we'll probably cram some medical training in there.  You're going to be our Joat."

"What's a Joat?" wondered Allan out loud.

"Jack of all trades," replied Twitch promptly enough.  "You'll be a fill-in.  You'll need to be at least competent with most of the major occupations on board, and some of the specialty ones."

Allan looked at him wide-eyed.  Twitch looked back, amused.  "What, you thought once you were out, it'd be all good, that you could just sit around feeling sorry for yourself?"  He shook his head.  "Sorry kid, but we don't have the time or the resources to babysit people who can't take care of themselves.  You either make it on your own merit, or you crash and burn."

Allan shut his eyes.  Crash and burn… that might be nice.  But then he thought, I can make a difference.  I won't let myself become dependant on everyone else.  I want to be useful. He opened his eyes and said in a shaking voice, "Hit me."

Twitch nodded approvingly and hit the button that would send the next lesson through his already splitting skull.


	6. Training II

Disclaimer: See previous chapters

A/N: Next… some random stuff about training, and we're introduced to the rest of the crew.  Thankyou to all the lovely, wonderful people who reviewed.  I've changed my settings to accept anonymous reviews.

He saw Shadow at lunch, looking tired and distracted.  Also covered from head to foot with grease and dirt.

"I hate the stupid generator," she groaned as her head connected with the table.  The noise was something like 'thunk', but rather more metallic.

"What was wrong with it?" asked the silver-haired lady from the other end of the table.  At nearly seventy years of age, Veil was a lady in the best sense of the word.  Kind, elegant and still as lovely as the day she had been released, she was also one of the most formidable soldiers Zion had ever known, and a mother to everyone on board the ship.

As Shadow seemed disinclined to answer, Pixel said, "Chunk of scrap steel got caught in the far cavity and she had to go fish it out."

Those around the table made various faces of sympathy.  Removing something from the far cavity required taking a large part of the engine to pieces, and then crawling through the (dirty, greasy) shell to reach it.  It looked like Shadow, the smallest and most flexible of the crew, had gotten stuck with that job.  No wonder she looked worn.

The hatch opened and two figures came in.  One was a small, slim fellow called Jump with greying hair and a cheerful, open, I-can-do-that-for-you manner.  He was the ship's operator, born in the free world, lacking the machine-installed plugs. The other was an enormous man with icy blue eyes and long blonde hair, loosely tied back.  He was the ship's captain, Munin.  The name meant memory, and was appropriate, as he had the undeniable gift of total recall.  He looked around at the table, his eyes settling on Shadow.  'Shall I assume from your dishevelment the generator has been repaired?" he asked, his faultless English sounding exotic through his liquid Norwegian accent.

She nodded tiredly.  "All better."

He nodded, satisfied, and looked at Allan.  "And how are you finding your training, Allan?"

Allan thought for a moment.  "It's easier and harder to do it this way, sir.  I keep knowing things that I shouldn't, or didn't.  It's distracting."

Up the other end of the table, Pixel and Twitch were in an intense argument about the new navigation system that had recently been installed.  Veil was adjudicating.  Shadow had propped herself up on her elbows and was staring apathetically at her food, while Jump was talking to her softly.  She nodded occasionally.

The captain nodded thoughtfully.  "There are obviously flaws in this sort of training system.  This afternoon, you'll be working with Shadow, and she'll be teaching you ways to deal with it – you need to make your mind very organised.  The information's in your head, but you don't know it.  You just have access to it."

Shadow had turned her head and was listening, her face blank.  "It's hard for the first couple of weeks," she said.  "You need a whole different way of thinking.  It gets easier once we reach the combat training – that completely bypasses your higher functions, because it's just gut instinct and reflexes.  But for data, information – you need to organise you mind, put the stuff away that you don't need."

Allan nodded.  He could feel all the information floating loosely about his head, in no semblance of order or logic.  "It's like I need some sort of filing system."

"Exactly," said Munin, nodding his approval.  "Alright, people, break's over.  Shadow, you take the new kid down to the gym and get started.  Veil, you're on the nav system, Jump assisting.  Twitch, Pixel, you relieve Ace and Cell.  Tell them it's time for lunch."

Everybody staggered to his or her feet.  The captain had mentioned all but two of the crew – Queenie and Dante.  They were on off-shift, working during the dead hours when the rest of the crew slept, which meant he hadn't met them yet, only been told about them.  It was essential for there always to be someone on duty.  Recently, he was told, there had been a rule instated that at least two people had to be on duty at all times.  Why that was, they had yet to tell him.

Shadow gestured for him to follow, and led him confidently down a level, and past the engine room.  He managed not fall over or even stumble too badly, and was absurdly proud of himself for that achievement.

The room she led him to was about three times the size of his own small cabin, and had mats all over the floor and antiquated gym equipment scattered about.  "Siddown," she said, closing the hatch behind him.  Only to happy to obey, he collapsed in a heap on the padded floor.  She leaned against the door, sliding to the ground with a sigh.  "Okay.  This session – which we'll be doing every afternoon for at least a couple of weeks – has two purposes.  To teach you how to store, learn and quickly access the knowledge you have inside your head.  This'll become easier very quickly.  The other purpose is to get you strong enough that you don't need a wheelchair to get to the head.  Kay?"

He nodded, too tired to be embarrassed about his weakened state.

"We'll do half an hour of lessons, then half an hour of physical exercises, then another half an hour on lessons, then finish up with physical.  After that, all you'll want to do is sleep." 

He nodded.  "All I want to do now is sleep."

She smiled.  "I hear that.  Okay.  Now I want you to imagine that your mind is like a room."

"What kind of room?"

"A big one.  With lots of filing cabinets."

"Like an office?"

"Sure, if you want to live in an office.  You have to live inside your own head, remember.  Make it a nice place."

Allan concentrated, and thought of a large, pleasant room, the walls lined with filing cabinets.

"Now, think of heating."

The thought triggered a series of information that made him blink.  "You need to take that data flow and put it in a drawer in one of the filing cabinets."

He tried.  It was a struggle that left different temperature markings floating in front of his eyes.  "It might help if you try and sort of fold it first."

He thought of folding the data flow and putting it carefully into a folder before stowing it in the top drawer of the cabinet closest to him.  It worked.  He let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, and opened his eyes.  "Okay."

"That's the easy part."

"That was easy?" he asked, only half facetiously.  He felt drained by the effort.  Of course, it might have the cumulative pressure of the day, but that wasn't the point.

She nodded. "That was just one fraction of the information you've been given.  You need to file it, cross-reference it, and be able to find what you need in a microsecond without getting tangled up in anything unnecessary." 

He looked at her for a long moment, trying to gauge if she was joking.  She looked back at him blankly.  She wasn't joking.  He sighed.  "Okay.  Let's do this."

If anything, the physical training exercises were worse than the mental organization.  She had him on a machine that looked like a cross between an electric chair and an iron maiden.  It was currently delivering low-grade electric shocks to his muscles while he did aerobic exercises and she sat and watched him.  "What's the point of this again?" he gasped.

"The aerobics build your cardio-pulmonary endurance and the electric stimulation encourages muscle development."

"Ah.  Can I stop now?"

She glanced at the clock on the wall behind him.  "Yep.  We're done for the day.  Go get something to eat and drink and then go to bed."

He ceased the repetitive movements and lay still, trying to work up the courage to attempt standing.  Shadow looked at him.  "Oh, right.  I forgot."  She leaned down and slid a hand behind his shoulders, helping him to stand, then led him from the room.  She didn't allow him to lean on her as he walked.  When he started to sway with exhaustion, she reached out and steadied him, then as soon as he stopped, removed her support and made him walk by himself.  He supposed it had something to do with independence, but right now he was only focussed on getting somewhere he could sit.  At least all the information wasn't drowning him at every thought.

They reached the ladder, and he stared at it helplessly.  No way would he be able to climb that.  He watched as she leaped up easily, with what seemed to him to be an obscene amount of energy ad grace.  She had a nice backside, he noticed.  She held out a hand to him.  'Come on," she coaxed.  It's not that far.  You'll make it, and then beddy-byes.  Promise."

With a Herculean effort, he managed to scale three steps, and as he started to fall, she grabbed his collar and pulled him easily up the rest of the way.  He sat at the top of the ladder, trying to get his breath back, and she waited patiently, gently rubbing his back.  After several minutes, he felt well enough to continue.  He tried to walk past the mess, but she gently guided him in, saying,  "You need to eat and drink after all your exercise." 

He managed to eat about half the bowl this time before becoming too exhausted to go on, and she calmly fed him the rest of the bowl and a tin cup full of musty-tasting water.  All he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep, but she pulled him to his feet firmly.

"I'm not carrying you to bed again," she said.  He was too tired to react, but simply leaned on her, staggering down the corridor.  He was in a haze when he reached his cabin, and was asleep before he was quite on his bunk.


	7. Just talking

It got easier, of course.  Within weeks he found himself strong enough to stay up and eat with the rest of the crew.  Shadow kept pushing him hard, no longer simply sitting and watching him, but doing the same exercises her was and challenging him to beat her.  His competitive nature kicked in, and he found himself competing against her.  She beat him every time, but did it so good-naturedly he found himself laughing over his losses.

Other times, after he had mastered control of his mental filing system, they would sit on the floor of the gym and talk.  She would tell him about Zion, and life on the ship, and the war.  He would listen, drinking in everything she told him greedily, struggling to acclimatize himself to this strange new life.

"What were you before you got unplugged?' he asked her once.

She smiled faintly.  She rarely used her blank mask on him anymore. "Just a kid.  A stupid scared kid looking for an out…" Her face didn't go blank – quite – but became still and reflective, remembering time past.  "I was from what social surveys call a broken home.  Mom was dead, Dad was a drunken asshole.  Used to beat me around pretty good.  I'd sit up in my room and just tell myself, it's not real, it's not real, over and over again."

Her voice was distant, just reciting the facts, no emotional connection.  "What happened then?" he pressed gently.

"Dad came up to my room one night and crawled onto my bed, calling me Mary-Anne.  That was my mom's name.  I crawled out the other side and hid under the bed  - he was too fat to get under, even if he was smart enough to think of it – until he fell asleep.  Then I got up, packed a bag and left.  I knew I couldn't stay.  Not if he was going to start that."

"Jesus," Allan breathed, shocked.  "How old were you?"

"Seven," she replied absently.

"Then what?"

"I lived on the streets for a while.  Learned to pick pockets and where to hang out to get free feeds.  Sometimes I'd go into buffet places and stuff as much food under my clothes as I could."  She fell silent, remembering darker times.  "I'd sleep anywhere – porches, trucks, treehouses, sometimes those bins they have to put clothes in for charity.  Warmer in there.  You could score some pretty sweet stuff, too."  She shook her head sharply, as if trying to clear a fog.  "Anyway, after about a month of that, social services came and picked me up, took me back to my dad's.  I stole his wallet and took off again that night before he could start on me again.  Took out enough cash to keep me in style for a couple of months before he cancelled the cards."  She smiled faintly.  "That was a good couple of months.  Do you know, nobody ever bothers to rob little girls?  It's always assumed that they don't have any money.  So I got mostly left alone."

She sighed and leaned her head against the wall, rolling it from side to side as if her neck was stiff.  Allan pulled his legs up to his chest and watched her patiently.  She would continue when she was ready.

"Anyway, I got dragged back to Dad's again.  He smacked me around pretty bad and locked me in a closet.  Somebody knocked on the door… I heard some thumping and Dad talking a bit, and then the closet door opened.  I was thinking, Oh, god, this is it… but it wasn't my dad, it was Morpheus."

"Wait, Captain Morpheus?"

She nodded, smiling now.  "Dad was unconscious on the floor behind him.  He just stood there looking down at me – god, he was huge, I could barely see his face it was that far up…"

"Still couldn't," jibed Allan, very gently.

She glared.  "Very funny.  Anyway, he crouched down to look at me.  There were bruises all over my face, just at that nice blackish-purple stage.  He looked at me and said, Do you want to go now?  And I looked up at him and said, It isn't real, is it." 

She sighed and stretched out her legs in front of her, leaning down to touch her toes with a casualness that still surprised him.

"So, I got pulled out.  I was on the Neb for a while, but they can't keep kids on the ships for too long – something about anti-social behaviour.  So I got transferred onto the Dauntless, which would get me back to Zion quicker than the Neb, which was outward bound.  I was put in the orphanage.  Then, when I was old enough, I joined up."

He looked at her, stretched out on the floor.  "Regrets?" he asked.

"Not a one," she replied cheerfully enough, then paused thoughtfully.  "No, just one.  That I didn't kick my father in the face on my way out the door."

Allan smiled at the attempt to lighten the mood.  "Damn hard life, girl."

She shrugged.  "I survived.  Can't have been that bad."

Allan didn't believe that for a moment.  "Did it make it easier to adjust, getting out?" he asked curiously.

She frowned.  "I think so.  There are lots of different factors in that.  Young children have a tenuous grasp of reality at the best of times, so they react well.  People who come from dysfunctional or abusive backgrounds, people given to metal illness, people who have nothing to live for.  They all do well.  The older you are, the more grounded you are in reality, the materialistic people don't do so well."

That made sense.  Then a thought occurred to him.  "Hey, how old are you meant to be to join a crew?"

"Sixteen."

"But you said you got those scars from releasing Twitch when you were twelve."

She grinned.  "Would you believe me if I said I stowed away?"  
"I believe they would have locked you in your room for doing that."

She laughed.  "Nah.  We're supposed to do something like work experience, go out on a ship for a couple of weeks.  He wasn't meant to be a high-risk case.  It was supposed to be textbook unplugging."

"Didn't turn out that way?"

"Coulda been worse," she said dismissively. 

Another thought occurred.  He was on a roll today.  "Well, why did you unplug me?  I don't fit any of those criteria.  I'm not from an abusive or dysfunctional background.  I don't have mental illnesses or depression.  And I'm – I was very materialistic."

She looked at him, her eyes half-closed.  It made her look secretive, sly.  "I thought you had potential."

He looked at her skeptically. "And you managed to convince the whole crew of that."

She waved a hand, her face still sly. "Nah.  Just Munin.  He trusts my judgement." 

"Seriously, though, why?"

'I told you, I thought you had potential."

"Define potential."

She sighed.  "The ability to deal with the truth without losing your mind."

"And you based this on what?"  Allan knew he was pushing, but he was itching to know.

She gave him a flat stare.  "Women's intuition."

He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.  "Fine, don't share.  I just wanted to know what you were basing the decision on that changed my whole life."

She shook her head.  "Half the time this shit's guesswork anyway.  You can't really predict how one person will react.  You can say that a certain group of people tend to react a certain way, but you can't tell for any individual, not really."  She smiled at him gently, like you'd smile at a child.  "Let's just say I played a hunch."


	8. I bet that hurt, didn't it?

A/N *kicks the Wachowski bros* Damn you!  Bloody go and AU all my fics why don't you!

Disclaimer:  I don't own the Matrix.  Other assorted people do.  I just write about it, and make no profit from said writing.  Cheers.

His first combat session was humiliating and painful.  He got the crap belted out of him by a grinning Pixel, who then proceeded to sit him down on the floor of the dojan, tell him exactly what he had done wrong, then made him get up and do it again.  He came out of the construct feeling like a solid bruise, and like he'd learned something very important but couldn't quite figure out what.

That night, for the first time in the real world, he dreamed.  He was drowning, choking, strangling.  Everything was pink and he was so weak and trembling and the machines were coming to eat his eyes out…

Allan sat up in bed with a scream.  His entire body was trembling, as if somebody was running a low-level electrical current through him.  He held very, very still for a moment, then slowly relaxed into the bed, taking deep breaths.  He really, really hoped that nobody had heard that, but after a moment, the door opened.

The darkness was split by a shard of fluorescent light, and somebody stepped inside, turning the lights on to their lowest setting.  He expected Shadow, but it was Veil, looking positively ethereal, her fine grey hair flowing over her shoulders, her delicate face highlighted by the soft light.  She came right in and sat down on the edge of his bunk.

"You okay, kid?" she asked softly.  

He nodded, pulling the thin blankets tighter about him.  "Just dreams.  Nightmares."

"Drowning in pink goo while the machines come to get you and you're too weak to move?"

He half-sat up in surprise.  "How did you know that?"

She smiled down at him, looking like somebody's harmless old grandmother.  It's alright, dear, Nana's here to chase the monsters away. "Everyone gets those dreams, kid.  It's a good sign.  It shows your subconscious is beginning to deal with what happened to you."

"Oh."  He slumped back.  She smiled as she got up.  

"Don't worry too much about it, kid.  You're making very good progress.  Shadow was right about you."

He rolled onto his side to look at her.  "What did Shadow say about me?"

Veil shrugged her elegant shoulders as she opened the door to leave.  "She said you had potential."

The door slammed shut.

The nightmares, rather predictably, got worse before they got better.  They came most nights, sometimes twice, and always there would be somebody there, to wake him up, talk away the demons, and leave him to sleep.  Happened like clockwork, just procedure, get the newbie back to sleep so the rest of us can get on with what we have to do.  It rankled a bit, but not as much as the fact that it was never Shadow who came in to comfort him.  Every other crewmember barring the captain had been in, including Queenie and Dante, who had very strange senses of humour, but not Shadow.  She was no longer running his physical training in the real world, not since he started combat training.  There was no time, for either him or her.  They both had other things to do, though she had told him that he still needed to keep his fitness level up.  It was easy to let it slide.

He still got the crap belted out of him in combat training, but was constantly told he was doing well and improving quickly.  He'd even managed to floor Twitch a few times, but Twitch simply laughed and confessed he'd never been much good at combat.

Slowly, Allan found himself becoming more accepted by the crew.  His mornings were taken up with training but his now-free afternoons were spent crawling over the ship, doing odd-jobs and fixing things, discovering just how different, sometimes, the reality of the ship was to his dry, factual training.  If something happened, as it occasionally did, that his training did not cover, he would have to go and search up a crew member who knew what the hell was going on.

He was on one of these expeditions, trying to find out what the hell a particular pipe in the med bay did.  It wasn't connected to anything, but the section it was in had broken down and he didn't want to remove it if it was important.

Jump told him he should talk to Shadow, who was the ship's med officer.  He had been surprised to learn that, but figured that with all this new teaching technology, it could happen fast, and young.

He found her.  She was dangling from a harness almost six feet above him, apparently welding something to the ceiling.  Not wanting to disturb her while she was so perilously situated, he sat down to wait.

She flicked off the blowtorch and released the catch that spooled her down to the floor.  "What's up?" she asked, unclipping herself from the harness.

"Need a hand in the med bay.  Can't figure out what this damned thing does, but it's broken."

She nodded.  "Just let me put the torch away, and I'll be right down."

He nodded and wandered back down to the med bay.  Just as he reached the, door, a horrible scream from the direction he had just taken made his blood run cold.  Before he realized what he was doing, he was already halfway to the storage room.

Shadow was huddled against the door of the storage room, cradling her arm to her chest.  Her hand had gotten caught between the heavy hatch and the frame, and was crushed and broken.  He could see the broken bones poking white and sharp through the skin, blood soaking into her shoulder.  Her face was whiter than ever, her eyes wide and shocky.  Her breathing was coming in fast gasps, whimpering softly on each exhalation.

His shiny new medical training kicked in hard, and he took her gently by the shoulders and pulled her towards the med bay, scrolling quickly through the information.  Hands were tricky, with all the bones.

At the med bay, he sat her down carefully and stuck a syringe full of local anesthetic in her lower arm.  Not in her arm-plug, that would have gone straight to her bloodstream and knocked her out.

Pixel appeared at the door.  "What's going on?" she demanded, and then she saw Shadow's hand.  "Oh, gods."

As the pain dulled, Shadow calmed slightly.  "Fuck… that hurts," she whimpered.

Pixel moved back as Allan approached the injured girl.  "What are you going to do?" she asked softly.

"There's not much I can do," he replied absently.  "And injury like this?  Needs surgery.  I'm not trained for that."  He began to carefully clean the places where the bones had broken the skin. 

Munin appeared in the doorway.  "I heard a scream.  What happened?"

"Shadow got her hand mangled in a door," said Allan, not looking up from the task at hand.  "She needs to get back to Zion."

Munin crossed and looked down at the injury.  "Can't you fix it?"

"No, sir," replied Allan patiently.  "She might be qualified for this, being that she's the chief medic and all, but I'm not, and you can't really ask her to do reconstructive surgery on her own hand, can you?"

Munin was silent for a long moment, and Allan wondered if he was going to get into trouble for that.  Then the captain spoke.  "Pixel, we need to get back to Zion as fast as humanly possible."

"It'll be at least eighteen hours, sir.  We're a long way from home."

"Then you'd better get started, hadn't you?"

"Yessir!" Exit Pixel.

Munin turned to Allan, who was examining the mangled hand and considering what would be the best way to splint it.  "Can you take care of her?"

"Yes, sir.  If I can keep her from going into shock, she should be okay.  But for the hand…" He shrugged helplessly.  "I don't know, sir.  With proper treatment, it might be okay, but I really don't know."

Munin nodded.  "Just do what you can."


	9. Homeward bound

Disclaimer: See previous chapters.  I'm too tired to think of something witty or even coherent right now.

A/N:  I have succumbed.  I have made it a romance.  BTW, I need to think up a new 'real' name for Allan.  I can't just keep calling him Allan forever, can I?  People will laugh at him.

The next eighteen hours were excruciating.   Shadow lay quietly until the drug wore off, about six hours later.  She didn't make any sound, but her breathing increased and she started to shake until he gave her another shot.  She looked up at him, her eyes wide and pained.

"We going home?" she asked breathlessly.

"To Zion, yeah.  I can't do anything about your hand."

She looked at it, wincing.  "Good call."

"Sorry," he mumbled.

She shook her head.  "Don't be sorry.  If you tried and screwed it up, then I'd be pissed.  But it's okay that you can't do it.  Hell, I wouldn't want to risk it."

He nodded, still vaguely ashamed of his inexperience.

She smiled dazedly as the drugs kicked in.  "It's good.  I like Zion.  Warm there."

He sat down by her, checking the splint.  "Tell me about it," he asked.

Her smile faded as she rolled on her side.  "Everyone lives in the well.  It's like this big sinkhole with apartments all around.  It's not really pretty, but it's like a big neighbourhood.  You know all the people who live close to you, above and below.  The heating comes from geo-thermal vents down the bottom, and it's so warm there…" Her voice trailed off and she took a deep breath.  Allan was suddenly acutely conscious that his fingers were stinging with the cold.  

"Are you cold?" he asked softly.  She nodded, curling into herself slightly.  He got up and got another blanket from the closet, tucking it around her with a care for her injured hand.

"There's this huge cave," she said softly.  "It's called the Temple.  There are gatherings there, and dances.  Two hundred thousand people, all dancing, and the drums are so loud.  Good acoustics.  It's really the only time you can actually get too hot."  She smiled again, as if just the words, the memory, could summon the heat.

"You dance?"

"Bit, yeah.  You're not allowed to go to the dances until you're fifteen.  I joined up when I was sixteen, so I only had a year of dances, but I went to a few."

"Sounds like fun," he said wistfully.

"If an orgy two hundred thousand strong is your idea of fun, then yes."

He looked at her peaceful face, her eyes closed.  "An orgy?"

She smiled gently.  "I always left before it got to that point.  Being molested not really my idea of fun."

"I can imagine."

They both fell silent, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence.  He was happy to sit quietly there until one of them filled the silence.

She took a deep breath, and opened her eyes to examine her hand, lying beside her on the pillow.  "That's gonna need surgery," she stated.

"Yep.  That's why we're going home."  It didn't feel strange to call it home, for some reason.

"Oh, good," she muttered.  "These drugs don't do shit except take the edge off, you know."

He shrugged helplessly.  "It's the strongest we've got.  I can't give you anymore for a couple of hours."

She waved her uninjured hand.  "I know, I know.  It's okay.  It just hurts, is all."

"You should try to rest," he offered uselessly.

She nodded, snuggling deeper under the blankets.  He stood up and looked down at her for a moment, suddenly feeling very protective.  He remembered, with a sudden poignancy, his sister Jessica.  She had looked just like this when she slept, small and innocent, her little face puckered in concentration.  Only Shadow's wasn't puckered in concentration, but with pain.

He left her to her troubled sleep.

She woke again when the drug wore off some hours later.  This time she couldn't restrain a soft whimper.  Allan was immediately at her side.  "Are you alright?  Do you need more drugs?" he asked.

She shook her head.  "No, not yet.  Give me one minute."  She took several deep breaths and closed her eyes, calming herself.  "How long till Zion?"  she asked, her voice calm and steady.  He had to admire her tolerance for pain.

"About four hours or so.  Are you sure you don't want some more?"

She nodded, opening her eyes.  "I hate drugs.  They make me stupid and sleepy."

"It's a sedative as well as a painkiller."

"I know," she said blandly, and he flushed. Of course she knew.  "Could you get me a drink?"

"Sure," he said amiably, going to get the canteen full of water.  He helped her to sit up gently, and had to hold the canteen as her uninjured right hand was fully occupied with shielding and cradling her left hand.

He had a sudden memory of how she had fed him when had first been unplugged.  The scene seemed remarkably reminiscent of that night.  Her throat moved convulsively as she swallowed the lukewarm, metallic-tasting water as if it were life-giving ambrosia.

He could feel her shoulders trembling beneath his supporting arm.  It was like holding a wounded animal.  She felt so thin, so fragile, and he wondered if she would ever be able to use that hand of hers again.  Maybe he should do something about it.  Maybe…

She emptied the canteen, and let her head fall back against his shoulder, a trickle of water running down her chin.

"You okay?" he asked softly.  She shook her head.

"I think I might like some of those lovely drugs now," she said through gritted teeth.

"Your wish is my command," he said, laying her back down on the bed and going for the syringe.

She hissed as the needle slipped into her arm, her vaunted self-control fading notably.  She shook as the drug – a stronger dose this time – took effect.  He could see the muscles in her shoulders slowly relax as the tension eased out of her.

"Better?" asked softly.  She nodded.

"That lot should last till we get home.  Them you'll be out of my hands."

"Like being in your hands," she mumbled.

"What?' he asked, not sure if he'd heard her correctly.

"Feel safe," she replied, not opening her eyes.  He thought her cheeks looked slightly flushed.  "You'd never hurt me."

"No, I wouldn't," he replied, very softly.

She curled up on her side.  "Stay with me until we get home.  Please."

He nodded and sat down.  Maybe the drugs were melting her brain.  He wouldn't give her anymore.

But he sat next to her and held her small hand until a grating noise, a clunk, and cessation of movement announced their arrival in Zion.


	10. Bad News

Disclaimer etc: Not mine. Getting less so all the time. 

A/N: We are in Zion. Pretty. Shadow gets some bad news. Be sad for Shadow. Uncomfortable silence ensues. 

He got his own apartment. It was a tiny, cramped little place, partly burrowed into the solid wall of the well, but it was all his. And soundproofed. 

The bed was a lot more comfortable that the thin mattress on board ship. He'd sleep well for the next few nights. They would be staying in Zion for at least a few days, maybe as much as a week. Not just to find out if Shadow would be well enough to keep serving on board, but to give the rest of the crew a break, let them spend some time with family and friends. Lacking somewhat in family and friends, Allan was left to himself.

So he lay on his side in his tiny, bare little apartment and thought about Shadow. About the trust in her eyes when she said she felt safe around him. He was such a stupid little newbie. Why in hell should she trust him? 

Somewhere during that evening, he drifted off to sleep. Dreamt of her, and woke up with hard (ahem) evidence that his hormones were once more working fine. 

After returning from the bathroom, he lay on his back on the bed and thought. She'd probably be out of surgery by now. They had taken her off the minute they had arrived and he hadn't seen her since. He dug through his mental files on Zion for the medical section, finding it easily. He rolled off his bed and started for the door. 

Before he could reach it, a knock sounded. It was Jump, with a slim, worn-looking woman and a little girl of about ten. "Allan, my man, this is Byte," he indicated the woman, "and Bit, my daughter." Byte reached out a hand to be shaken. As he did so, he noted she had plugs in her arms. 

Bit hid behind Jump, peering out around his hip. "Hey, we were just going to visit Shadow. You coming?" asked Jump, hugging the girl. 

"For sure," replied Allan, relieved. 

They made their slow way to the elevator. Jump and Byte were holding hands as they walked ahead, and Bit soon overcame her shyness and gazed up at Allan unabashedly. "Hi," he said uncertainly. 

"Are you Shadow's friend?" she asked as they reached the elevator. 

"I guess so," he replied. "I haven't really known her that long." 

The girl nodded. "She's my friend," she said determinedly. "She used to babysit me when Mom had to work and Daddy was on the ship." The girl went quiet. "I hope she's okay." 

"I'm sure she will be," said Allan as the elevator door closed. "She's very brave." 

Bit nodded. "I know. She taught me how to fight. Most people won't bother with you if you can't plug in, but she taught me anyway. The hard way." 

"That was good of her," said Allan. 

They reached the medical level. It looked just like all the others, but Jump set off as if he knew where he was going. The others trailed after him, and after a few steps, Bit slipped her small hand into Allan's and started to swing it as she walked. 

Shadow was sitting on the edge of her bed, in a long, low room filled with such beds, talking to another man with a grim expression on her face. Her left hand was in a chunky cast to the elbow. 

"Shadow!" shrieked Bit, running towards her. She forgot to let go of Allan's hand first, and pulled him along in her wake. The child flung herself onto Shadow, who caught her awkwardly, one-handed, holding the cast clear. 

"Hiya, Bits. How are you doing?" 

"I'm good," replied the girl, settling in her lap. "How's your hand?" 

"Sore," replied Shadow with a grimace. "Hey, Allan." 

"Hey," he answered. "What's the verdict?" 

She sighed and shook her head. "Probably be okay. But I'm not going to be fit for active shipboard duty for at least two months. Right, Doc?" She directed this question at the man she had been talking to, a man of medium build with the most startlingly blue eyes Allan had ever seen. 

"Correct," he said regretfully. "I can't allow you serve on board a ship for at least eight or nine weeks. You need to stay in the city for a while." She slumped, cradling Bit, as Jump and Byte approached. 

"Bad news?" asked Byte. She nodded. 

"I'm off ship for a couple of months." 

Jump frowned. "Damn, girl." 

Shadow sighed, leaning back onto the bed, shifting Bit's slight weight in her lap. "It's so stupid, you know? I got my freaking hand jammed in a door and now I'm down for two months. This sucks." 

"Two months?" came Munin's deep voice. He walked over from the entrance, frowning thunderously. "You're going to be down for two whole months?" Shadow nodded meekly. Munin sighed. "Damn." He shook his head and turned to Allan. "You know you'll have to take up the slack," he said firmly. It was not a voice you could say no to.

"Yessir," said Allan meekly. With a last irritated grimace, he nodded to Byte and left. 

Jump sat down on the edge of the bed and noticed Shadow's despondent expression. "Don't mind him, honey. He's just a bear." 

"I know," she said. 'It's my own stupid fault." 

"Don't be sad," said Bit hopefully. "You can come and stay with us, can't she Mom?" 

Byte smiled. "Or you could go and stay with her while your dad's home, honey." 

Bit lit up at that idea while Shadow and Allan valiantly attempted to stifle grins. Jump nudged his wife with a reprimanding look doing nothing to hide his 'Hmm, there's an idea….' reaction. 

"Can I, Shadow? Can I?" 

"Sure, sweetie, but I gotta get out of this place first." 

"Oh, that should be okay," said Doc. "You're free to go. Come back every couple of days for a check-up, but you know the drill, right?" 

"Yep." She hopped off the bed and put Bit down. Jump picked up her bags from the floor. Shadow looked for a moment as though she were about to protest that she could carry it herself, but didn't, instead taking Bit's hand. With her other hand, Bit grabbed hold of Allan, and he grinned at Shadow over her head. She smiled back, acknowledging the weirdness of the situation. 

They moved to the elevator, letting Bit's chatter fill the silence. Upon reaching their level, Jump and Byte took the excited child firmly away to pack some things for her. Shadow and Allan walked calmly down the walkway until they reached his apartment. 

"I'm just three doors down thataway," she said, pointing. "If you need anything, just come and bang on the door." "Thanks," he said, and watched her walk away, carrying her heavy bag. He shook his head and went back inside. 

A/N Er… that was pointless. Next one will be better, promise! *puppy eyes* Review! 


	11. Dante and Eagle

A/N: Sorry about the long wait. Been working on my other pieces. Go and read them. Go! Go! No, wait, come back and read this first. Then go and read them.  
  
WARNING: This chapter contains references to homosexuality, bullying, and a bunch of bigoted cunts making somebody's life difficult. If this disturbs you, don't read it.  
  
All previous disclaimers apply.  
  
Once back in his own room, Allan found himself at a loss. He wouldn't be able to get back to sleep now, but he didn't what else he could do.  
  
He lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Metal segued into rock over his head. Metal into flesh in the back of his head. He thought over that for a moment, wondering if it was a deep and meaningful thought, then decided probably not.  
  
He was hungry. He hadn't eaten since the morning before. The thought lay in his mind like a cat, curled up contentedly, and he pondered it for a good ten minutes before realising that he should probably eat something.  
  
It was nice, he reflected, rolling off his bed, this pleasant, sleepy feeling of not having anything to do. And just being able to relax. His mind drifted off on tangents, and he felt no real need to call it back to task.  
  
He wandered off to the elevator, in no real hurry, happy to just go along and see what there was to see. His eventual destination was the mess hall three floors down, but there was no urgency. Zion was a fascinating place to go sightseeing.  
  
He was leaning against the railing, looking down at the long drop and admiring the way the pathways crisscrossed back and forwards across the cylindrical space, when he heard his name.  
  
It was Dante, coming up the walkway towards him. A small, slim boy with Hispanic colouring and an effeminate manner, Dante was about Allan's age, and the two had formed a wary friendship when Dante had been responsible for waking him from his nightmares. He had a self-deprecating sense of humour that Allan was sure was heavily influenced by Queenie's robust manner.  
  
"Hey, Allan," said Dante, offering a rare smile.  
  
"Hi," he replied lazily.  
  
"I was just going down to the mess for some lunch. You up for it?"  
  
"Yeah, I was sort of headed that way myself. It's a nice view."  
  
"You should see it at night," replied Dante as they started to walk. "When the main overheads are off, it looks like you're standing in a column of stars."  
  
Allan was slightly surprised at the poetic metaphor coming out of the other boy's mouth, but quashed it as they reached the mess.  
  
The only other people in the place were a group of boys about their age lounging at one of the long tables on the opposite side of the room. They looked up at Allan and Dante's entrance, and immediately began to talk amongst themselves.  
  
Dante noticed this and turned his head away, rocking on his heels for a moment.  
  
"What's their story?" asked Allan quietly.  
  
Dante gave himself a shake and led Allan over to the kitchen window. "That's Eagle's gang. They hate me because I got into the fleet, and he didn't even pass his final exams."  
  
"Trouble?" Allan knew all about bullying. Mind you, he'd usually been on the giving end rather than the receiving, but he still knew how the game worked.  
  
"They won't start anything, if that's what you mean. They don't dare touch me; I've had the combat training. Only the military get that. But they might try and get me to hit one of them."  
  
"So they could complain," stated Allan. It was a dirty trick that he'd never used.  
  
Dante nodded. "It'd ruin my career."  
  
"Ignore them," advised Allan as they grabbed trays full of food - sweet heavens, actual food - and headed to sit at a table away from the lounging boys.  
  
"Hey, Dante!" yelled one of the boys, and the whole crowd of them sniggered as if there was some huge joke.  
  
"Didja have a fun time on patrol, Dante?" yelled another, sneering out the name as if it were something filthy.  
  
"Looks like you found some nice fresh meat," said the biggest boy there, a huge fellow with a shaven head and cruel look. Allan surmised that this was probably Eagle.  
  
The whole group got up and slunk over to the table, sitting down all around Allan and Dante. "Oh, yeah," continued Eagle. "Looks like you gotchorself a nice soft piece of ass."  
  
Dante shoulders were trembling as he hunched over his food, fork clutched so tightly in his hand it was almost bending. Allan ran over all the facts, then calmly leaned back in his chair and spoke to Dante as if the others weren't even there.  
  
"What I want to know is why you give a damn what some cretinous twat thinks. I mean, come on." He looked up and saw Shadow appear at the door. Her eyes fell on the two of them, surrounded by the gang, and widened in horror. It seemed she'd seen this play out before. He shook his head at her and kept talking. "From what I've been told, you had half the captains in the fleet after you. Munin trusts you enough to stick you on night watch with no supervision - dude, that's a huge responsibility." He hoped that Eagle and his crew didn't know about the knew rule that put Queenie on with Dante every night. "And here's this asshole, making you feel like crap when he couldn't even pass his final exams even though I bet he cheated." Eagle's face turned red with rage. "So, why do you even care? Their opinions don't mean shit where it counts, and they ain't gonna hit you. Ignore them."  
  
Dante looked at him incredulously. Allan nodded encouragingly and picked up his fork. "So what is this? Actual food?"  
  
Dante swallowed once, then again before he could talk. The rest of the room was frozen - the boys around them, Shadow in the doorway. "Yeah. It's sorta like tofu. Doesn't taste of much, but you can chew it. And then for afters," he pointed to a dish of something grey and blobby "doesn't look like much, but it tastes almost, but not quite, entirely unlike Jello."  
  
"Hitchhiker's Guide," said Allan absently, taking a bite of the something that was on his plate. It was quite novel to actually need to chew something, and Allan realised that his jaw muscles were severely out of practice.  
  
"Cookie for you," applauded Dante, then paused. "Except we only get cookies twice a year. Oh, well."  
  
"Hey, Dante," snapped Eagle. No response. "I'm talking to you, fag."  
  
"So did you see Shadow this morning?" asked Allan as if nothing else was happening.  
  
"No, I didn't. How is she?" replied Dante. His voice was not quite as natural.  
  
"Oh, it's a total bummer. She's gonna be off ship for two and a half months."  
  
"Damn," said Dante sadly.  
  
The girl in question approached, and plunked herself down between the pair of them, as it was the only place left at the table. It was rather a tight fit, but nobody protested. Alan noted that her hair was wet, combed back into a braid, and her bad hand was strapped to her body, underneath her breasts.  
  
"I tell you something," she said offhandedly. "I'm sure there's something to be said for sponge baths, but god, it's good to warm and clean."  
  
"Hey, baby," said Dante, putting an affectionate arm around her shoulders.  
  
"Hey," she replied, leaning against him briefly.  
  
"Oh look, it's the Ice Queen," said Eagle, his voice suddenly oozing what he probably thought was charm. She ignored him.  
  
Some of the group of bullies had gotten bored and returned to their own table to continue whatever discussion they had been having prior to Dante's entrance. Allan noted this with quiet pride. That's the way to do it, he told himself. Just ignore them. They'll get bored and wander off.  
  
Eagle, however, was not so easily deterred. "Hey, new boy." His voice was sharp as he leaned over, getting in Allan's face so it was impossible to ignore him. "Did little Dante tell you his big secret? Did he tell you he's a goddamn fag?"  
  
"Yes," lied Allan calmly. In truth, he hadn't, but Allan had guessed as much from Eagle's earlier taunts. Dante's posture stiffened, but Shadow's right hand was rubbing his back gently, and she leaned her head against his shoulder.  
  
Eagle glared. "Oh, so I suppose that's why you got unplugged, is it new boy? He wanted a new butt monkey."  
  
"Nah," said Allan off-handedly. "He was pimping."  
  
Eagle blinked, apparently taken aback. "Pimping for who?"  
  
Allan turned and looked him in the face, all innocence. "Oh, he said he knew this guy back in Zion, who'd just love to have a new boyfriend. What did he say his name was? Some kind of big bird. Falcon, maybe, or Buzzard."  
  
"Eagle?" asked that boy, his face growing purple.  
  
"Yeah, that's the one," replied Allan calmly, then coathangered the bully as he tried to leap across the table to throttle Dante.  
  
"I'll kill you, you fucking faggot! I'll fucking kill you!" Eagle collapsed to the floor, clutching at his throat and hissing threats at Dante, who sat wide-eyed and shaking in his seat.  
  
"Now, that's not nice," said Shadow reprimandingly. "He was trying to do you a favour, after all." She collapsed into giggles at the thought, and Allan blinked at her. Shadow giggling?  
  
The others in Eagle's gang stood around uneasily, looking to each other, searching for some signal to tell them what to do.   
  
Before anybody could move, though, a small woman with white-blond hair standing on end around her face came in and took in the whole situation at a glance. "Eagle!" she roared, in a throaty alto that belied her small frame.  
  
Eagle rolled onto his side, coughing and clutching at his throat. "Yes?" he rasped hoarsely.  
  
"Brawling again?" she demanded in a sharp Irish accent, glaring down at him.  
  
He shook his head weakly. "Not my fault," he insisted, his voice cracking like a prepubescent on the last word. Shadow hid a snigger behind a cough.  
  
"I don't suppose they started it, did they?' inquired the woman with aggressive, forced patience.  
  
Eagle lay still, then shook his head. "He shouldn't have said those things about me," he mumbled, his voice slowly returning to normal. The woman turned her formidable glare on the three sitting serenely at the table. Shadow was calmly eating Allan's lunch while he wasn't looking.  
  
"What happened?" she asked.  
  
Allan shrugged smoothly. "He was getting in my face while I was eating and picking on my friends. So I cast aspersions on his sexual identity, and he tried to strangle Dante."  
  
The woman blinked at his calm reply. "You cast aspersions, so he attacked Dante?" she asked.  
  
Allan tilted his head. "Cast aspersions by saying that Dante had said some things to me."  
  
"Foolish," she said sharply. Allan inclined his head, admitting that. She crouched down, glaring at Eagle. "You're a fine fecking one to talk about saying things about other people, Eagle. I know all about the shit you give Dante. You deserve whatever comes to you."  
  
Eagle shot upright. "He tried to kill me, Wisp!"  
  
She glanced over at Allan. He shook his head. "Just defending my friends." Shadow nodded encouragingly, starting on his dessert.  
  
Wisp sighed. "Right. The whole lot of you were supposed to be back at work half an hour ago. The fact that you're still here is enough reason for punishment. But brawling -" She shook her head tiredly. "This is the third time this week. This time, I'm gonna drop the book on you."  
  
None of the boys moved. Allan noticed what Shadow was doing with his lunch and tried to reclaim his spoon, resulting in a playful tug-of-war.  
  
"Well, why are you all just standing there?" shouted Wisp. "Get back to work!"  
  
Boys scrambled up from their chairs and rushed for the door, eager not to be associated any further with Eagle, who looked like he was about to get into a lot of trouble. He also had a rather nice bruise forming on his throat. Allan realised with a guilty start that actually could have done some quite extensive damage.  
  
Wisp glanced down at the three fleet kids sitting quietly at the table, Allan and Shadow still wrestling over the spoon, Dante looking down at his food disconsolately. "Nice way to start in Zion," she said to Allan, but there was no bite to her tone.  
  
He shrugged. "What would you have done?"  
  
She twisted her mouth to one side and glared after Eagle's retreating form. "The same, I guess. That boy needs to get some sense smacked into him."  
  
"It was self-defence on Allan's part," said Shadow, releasing the spoon.  
  
"Yeah, I got that," replied the older woman. "Don't worry, I'll take care of him."  
  
She left after the retreating boys, and Dante slumped in his chair. He hadn't said a word through the whole encounter. "Sorry about that," he mumbled.  
  
"De nada," said Allan lightly, and looked down at his now-empty tray. "You ate all my lunch," he accused.  
  
"So?" asked Shadow, wiping her mouth on her sleeve.   
  
"So, go and get me some more, damnit," he said, poking her in the ribs.  
  
She squirmed away, unable to defend herself with her hand strapped to her body. "I can't carry a tray with one hand," she replied.  
  
"Sure you can," he replied, getting up to go and get it himself.  
  
Dante stood up abruptly, taking his tray. "I gotta go," he said, not looking at either of them. "See you guys around."  
  
Exit Dante, apparently pursued by an invisible bear. Shadow watched him go with a sad expression.  
  
"What's his story?" asked Allan quietly.  
  
Shadow shrugged. "A lot like mine, really. Abusive parents, bad background. A lot of kids like that will just sit back and take the abuse from anyone, because it's normal for them."  
  
"Damn," breathed Allan softly.  
  
"That's why Munin put him on with Queenie," continued Shadow calmly. "She doesn't let him take shit, even from her."  
  
Allan had noticed that when Queenie was around, Dante stood up straighter and gave his opinions with more confidence. "He really wants to make her proud," he guessed.  
  
"Yep," replied Shadow. "Which is good, because she'll push him a bit. Did you know he's actually a genius?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Yeah. He's got some ridiculous IQ, and his ability for spatial mathematics and logic is just amazing. He can do huge complicated equations in his head faster than the computers can. It's so cool."  
  
Allan smiled, returning to the table with another tray full of food, smacking Shadow away when she tried to reach for it. "Get out of it. You already ate the other one."  
  
She pouted, then leaned back in her seat.  
  
"So, how do you like Zion?' she asked.  
  
"S'nice," he replied through a mouthful of food. Swallowing, he continued, "It's good not to have to do anything."  
  
"I suspect I'll get bored of it after two months."  
  
"Probably." 


	12. Intermission

That evening, Allan knocked on Shadow's door with a feeling of trepidation. There was a childish squeal from inside, and the door was wrenched open. Bit flung herself onto him with a zeal possessed only by the young.  
  
Shadow appeared behind her. Her arm was out of its sling, and her face looked shocking - thin and drawn, with dark circles under her eyes.  
  
"Allan," said Bit as he stepped inside and closed the door, "do I have to go to bed?"  
  
He looked at Shadow, who nodded firmly. "Yes, you do."  
  
Bit scowled, all her sunnyness vanishing. "Well, I don't want to! I won't!" she shouted.  
  
Shadow shook her head, looking tired. "She's been doing this all freaking evening. She was supposed to be in bed an hour ago."  
  
Allan crouched down to stare at the sulking child. "Bit. Look at me." She complied. "What time do you have to go to bed at home?"  
  
"Nine o'clock," she said defiantly. He saw Shadow shake her head.  
  
"What time, Bit? The truth, now."  
  
Bit hung her head. "Seven-thirty."  
  
"What time is it now?"  
  
"Eight-thirty."  
  
"Then why aren't you in bed?"  
  
"Because I'm not at home!" said Bit hopefully.  
  
"Okay," said Allan cheerfully, taking her by the hand and pulling her towards the door.  
  
"Wait. Where are we going?" she asked, resisting.  
  
"I'm taking you home. If you won't go to bed here, you'll just have to go to bed at home."  
  
Bit freed her hand and stared up at him, lower lip trembling. "That's not fair."  
  
He crouched down to her level again. "It's absolutely fair, little Bit. You're going to bed. You can either go here, or at home. Your choice."  
  
Her small brow furrowed. "Will you tell me a story?' she asked hopefully.  
  
"Sure I will," he agreed amiably.  
  
"Okay then," she said, and went quietly to bed in the other section of Shadow's small apartment. Allan sat on the floor beside her bed and told her Cinderella until she dropped off.  
  
When he came back out into the main area, Shadow was sitting slumped at the small table, nursing a cup. She looked up as he entered. "Thanks," she muttered hoarsely. She really did look terrible this evening.  
  
"S'nothing. You looked like you could use the help," he replied, sitting down opposite her.  
  
"No kidding. I can deal with her anytime except bedtime. Drink?" she asked, getting another cup from a shelf within easy reach.  
  
"Please. I've had practise, though. I have - I had a little sister. You know. In the Matrix."  
  
She poured a drink for him and pushed it over. "Have."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You have a little sister in the Matrix. The fact that she's still in there and you're out here doesn't mean she isn't your sister."  
  
"But I don't know if she's even my real sister. She could just be some random."  
  
"No, she's your sister. The machines have some sort of system where the child in the Matrix is created from the corresponding parents in the real world. Otherwise you could get really messed up."  
  
"I guess." Silence fell, a comfortable silence. He took a sip from his cup and almost choked, his eyes stinging. "Strong stuff."  
  
She smiled tiredly. "Sorry. I should have warned you. Zion loves its alcohol."  
  
He smiled. "So, what are you going to do now?'  
  
"You mean now I'm stuck dockside for months?" She picked at a loose thread in the sleeve of her threadbare sweater. "Dunno. There's lots of stuff to be done in these cases - usually boring make-work. In cafeterias and stuff."  
  
"You'll die of boredom."  
  
"I know. But what else can I do?"  
  
"You could work in the orphanage."  
  
"God, that place is depressing."  
  
He shrugged and took another, more cautious sip from his cup. It burned all the way down, but he was prepared for it this time.  
  
Shadow slumped, rocking slightly in her seat, her eyes slightly unfocussed. "Looks like you're ready for bed as well," he suggested mildly.  
  
She looked at him, blinking owlishly, and nodded. "I think so."   
  
Rising from the table, he caught her elbow as she stumbled. "Have you been drinking a lot of that stuff?" he asked, concerned at her lack of coordination.  
  
She shook her head slightly. "Doctor gave me some painkillers."  
  
"And you then you started drinking. Silly girl."  
  
She tilted her head, swaying alarmingly. "Yeah. Silly." She looked at him, a crease forming between her eyebrows. "Bed now, please."  
  
He lifted her, one arm behind her shoulders, the other behind her knees, and carried her through the thin curtain to the sleeping area.  
  
By the time he laid her carefully down and covered her with the thick blankets, she was fast asleep. He wondered if the drugs and the drink would harm her, but after consulting his mental files decided probably not. She looked comfortable enough, so he turned and walked reluctantly out of her apartment and back to his own. 


	13. Jackin

They ended up spending a week in Zion, during which time Shadow, Dante and Bit took Allan over the whole city. Bit especially seemed to delight in showing him every last corner of her small world - playgrounds in large rooms with padded floors, the junior school peopled by children with plugs who were solemn-faced and those without who were laughing, the library where all the information was on the computers and the books were in glass cases and couldn't be touched.   
  
In the times when the child was at school or with her friends, Shadow and Dante took him to the adult areas - bars mostly, with an occasional 'jack-in'. A jack-in was an establishment where those equipped to do so could plug into recreational programs.  
  
"Porn mostly," said Dante distastefully as they hurried past a particularly seedy-looking establishment. "Kind of like the internet. But there are some good places - you can go shopping or to the beach. Just stuff like that. Simple stuff that a lot of people miss."  
  
"But mostly porn," said Shadow, looking amused. On some people, he noted, that expression softened their face. But her softening had passed after the painkillers had worn off, and the slight smile looked like a knife slowly being drawn from its sheath.  
  
"I get it," laughed Allan. "You get to program the woman of your dreams?"  
  
"Or man," she replied. "You'd be surprised how many women go to these things."  
  
Thet also stopped by the Acadamy, where young people were trained for life in Zion, be it aboard a ship or simply about the city. Shadow and Dante, both barely months out of the Acadamy, knew plenty of people, and for a few moments Allan felt almost lost in the whirl of greetings and introductions.  
  
They left there with an invitation to go to Orlando's that evening. A reputable jack-in that was strictly pornography-free, it was a popular place with those who actually wanted to socialise free of the discomforts of the real.  
  
They left Bit with her parents, who were quite happy to have their daughter back for the evening so she could spend some quality time with her father before he left again.  
  
Orlando's was a quiet, well-lit place that was just above the bad part of town. Chairs were arranged around linked operator stations, each patrolled by a freeborn. When the three of them arrived, almost every chair was full, except for a half-empty station over by the far wall.  
  
"Blink!" Shadow greeted their operator effusively. "How are you?"  
  
"Ready and raring to go, darling," he replied with a cheeky smile, and Allan wondered distantly whether the broad southern drawl was an affectation. He hadn't heard any other freeborns talk with such a marked accent.  
  
He lay down in the chair. The contours were different to the chair aboard ship - they didn't hug his body quite so effectively, and he could feel the frame beneath the sparse padding. These chairs were more heavily used, apparently.  
  
There was a tickle at the back of his neck, a feeling like falling, and then he was standing in what looked like an upper-class airport lounge. A moment passed, and Shadow appeared beside him, then Dante. They took a moment to orient themselves.  
  
"Man, I love what Orlando's done with the place," said Dante, glancing around.  
  
"Yeah," agreed Shadow. "Walls."  
  
Allan realised with a start that she was back in that familiar black overcoat with the heavy boots and blank expression. He, on the other hand, wore jeans, boots and a black t-shirt. Very mainstream next to Dante's leather pants and open-to-the-waist red silk shirt, revealing a toned upper body. Shadow, noticing her friend's getup, said, "It's such a shame. Dressing like that, you'd have the girls swooning all over you."  
  
Dante shrugged and indicated the metal detectors. There were three side by side, and they led onto a blank wall.  
  
Shadow perused the sign above them with pursed lips. "Let's see... we've got bonfire on the beach, a club or a rock concert. What's your preference?"  
  
"Beach," said Dante instantly.   
  
She looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes. "Allan? You know we're going to have to come up with a better name for you than that."  
  
They eventually decided to start out on the beach, before proceeding to one or another of the alternative venues.  
  
As they stepped through the appropriate gate, there was a sensation not unlike walking into cobwebs, a feeling of cold fingers creeping down his spine, and suddenly he had stepped onto a twilit beach. The sun appeared to just be setting over the ocean, but the air still carried traces of the day's fierce heat. He felt sweat spring up across his skin and wished he'd worn something other than jeans.  
  
No sooner had thought crossed his mind than he realised he was wearing something else. The cobwebby sensation had been his clothes transforming into board shorts and a singlet, gear comfortable for the beach. He turned to see Dante appear from thin air behind him, followed by Shadow. Dante's clothes closely mirrored his own, but Shadow stared mournfully down at herself.  
  
"I hate Orlando," she remarked, wrapping her arms about her waist. The shorts covered her to her knees, but the string bikini top left little to the imagination. Not that there was much to imagine. A hard life had made Shadow lean and muscled. She was small of breast and narrow of hip, but looked so fearfully competent and dangerous that you hesitated to point that out.  
  
Dante elbowed her playfully and they set off across the sand.  
  
Allan found himself fascinated by everything. The feeling of fine, grainy sand between his toes, the soft breeze that ruffled his hair. The heat, dear Lord, the heat alone was enough to make his head spin. He'd been cold for months, and now this warm, moist air was clinging to his skin as he crossed the beach towards the bonfire. The colours of the sunset astonished him - he'd almost forgotten colour in the grey world of the ship. Golden closer to the horizon, segueing into pinks and oranges and then into a sweet dusky blue higher up. The first stars were appearing, twinkling merrily.  
  
He heard a familiar noise and looked up to see gulls wheeling overhead, their odd, swooping flight paths never quite bringing them to collision. There were people up on the rocks at the end of the beach, he realised, scrambling about exploring or sitting there talking. People in the water, swimming, surfing. There was a guy in a flimsy looking boat. One guy looked like he was walking on the water. How did he do that?  
  
"Allan?" Shadow was standing in front of him. "You coming?"  
  
He looked and saw Dante standing a fair way away, looking impatient. He must have stopped and been standing there for a time. "Sorry. Got a bit distracted." He broke into a jog, Shadow keeping up with him with an easy lope, despite her shorter legs. He hadn't yet mastered the trick of effortless simulated speed.  
  
The bonfire was surrounded by people. Some were cooking on barbeques nearby, other sat around talking. There was a game of soccer going on, and somebody on the other side of the blaze had a guitar out, and had started a singalong. The idea made him shake his head. These were some of the most deadly warriors in the world, and they were singing what sounded like 'Sweet Home Alabama.' It was as if the world had tilted sideways.  
  
Shadow and Dante had taken seats on the rough-hewn logs to his left, and Dante appeared to be toasting a marshmallow.  
  
Shadow looked up at him curiously. "What's up?"  
  
Allan shook his head. "It's... weird, is all. Everybody's acting - you know."  
  
"Normal?" He turned to look at her. Her face was open and relaxed for once, sympathetic. "We're off-duty, Allan. We don't need to worry about stuff. Here -" she slapped a hand on the log "- we're not warriors. We're just people, having fun, relaxing, whatever. Sit down."  
  
He sat down beside her. The log was too small to fit all three of them comfortably, but he was pressed against her from the shoulder down to the knee, and he found he didn't mind at all. 


End file.
